Survivor's Guilt
by TagTheScullion
Summary: Winning a war isn't only about heroics on the battlefield.
**It's my first Harry Potter fanfic, which I find ironic since Harry Potter was the first fandom I was ever in. It's a bit of my insight about how Harry would've felt after the Battle of Hogwarts. I couldn't help but writing Ron and Hermione in here, they and Harry make the best bromance the history of literature will ever encounter.**

 **Harry Potter, its magnificent characters and its eviable world belong, needless to say, to the one and only JK Rowling.**

 **With no further blah blah, here is the story.**

* * *

Sleep found Harry soon enough. He called it mental exhaustion. It was, after all, the end of a task that had begun when he was barely 11 years old. Or scrupulously, it should be said it had begun even a decade before that encounter with Voldemort during his first year.

Yes, Harry Potter was finally free of that lingering weight that had always been upon his shoulders, thrust to him by an incomplete prophesy that a man with no love had decided suited a recently born baby back in the early 80's.

By the time Kreacher had made the sandwich his master had ordered, and taken it to him, Harry was snoring, deep in a slumber filled with peace and relief.

* * *

Harry woke up by midmorning the following day. He tried to calculate the hours he spent dozing mindless of the outside of his room in the Gryffindor Tower, but he realised he couldn't care less.

He sat up drowsily, taking time for his sight to adjust. Or as much as his sight without glasses could adjust to anything.

Ron was sleeping soundly in the bed next to his. The rest of his roommates were nowhere to be seen.

As he got out of bed, grabbed a pair of shoes and walked downstairs, Harry couldn't help but frown. This was such a big mess.

His eyes stung when he thought of everyone who had been killed. Colin, not even 17, had been so brave and loyal. When was the last time Harry had even paid attention to the boy? He had a little brother; Harry recalled when Dennis Creevey had been sorted; dripping wet under Hagrid's hairy coat.

Remus Lupin, finally happy after years of undeserved prejudice, had given his life to help the son of his late friend. The last standing Marauder, Harry thought bitterly. Tonks had been overrun by her insane aunt, leaving an orphaned boy behind.

Harry wondered for a moment how similar Teddy Lupin's youth seemed to be to his own. No, there was not a chance that Harry would allow the baby to be raised as harshly as he had been. Teddy was nothing alike himself. He still had his grandmother, and the Weasleys, and... he had Harry. Harry who would fulfil the role his own godfather had played for him.

He thought of Fred Weasley. Fred's death had struck him the most. It seemed the most unfair of them all. Fred had always been there to lighten the mood, to make others feel better, to defend those who needed it. A true Gryffindor, he'd been. And it was Harry's fault that he'd never crack a joke again, nor play a silly prank to an unsuspecting victim. It was Harry's fault that George would never heal from this wound. Nor would the rest of his siblings. It would ultimately be Harry's fault if Ron never spoke to him again.

He reached the common room and sat on the couch he, Ron, and Hermione used to sit in so often. In the cold morning sun, the room felt as it always had, untouched, unchanged. The only thing that had varied was the emptiness Harry felt inside.

He felt guilty because, even when he was mourning the fallen heroes, he was relieved. Relieved that finally, he could breathe. Evil was not down forever, he wasn't naive enough to believe that. For now, though, whatever had to be done to the surviving Death Eaters wasn't on _his_ hands. He was free of the burden.

And yet he wanted to help. He wanted to avenge those who were brought down by an unnecessary war. A war happening solely because of Tom Riddle's fear of death, and his hunger for an unreachable power.

He stood up, unable to contain his frustration. He kicked the stone ledge of the chimney and pressed his forehead to the cool stone wall.

As his tears traced his face unrestrained, Harry felt thin arms hug him. Letting out a sob he could no longer keep to himself, he turned to be faced with Hermione's pale, tired features. She was also crying, but quietly.

Harry owed her so very much. Her and Ron, always there beside him. Nothing could ever reflect how much he needed his two friends, how much he loved them. They were his support, his wall to lean on. He wasn't the hero, _they_ were. They, and everyone who had helped them along the way. He didn't deserve them, not after all the pain he put them through.

He shouldn't be on the receiving end of comfort. He'd ruined so many lives, because of a feud he had with one man. One on one, the prophesy said. And yet he'd managed to make it a whole full blown battle.

It was his fault Teddy was an orphan, Ron lost a sibling, Hermione's parents were who-knows-where in Oceania. Yet still they insisted in showing him unwavering support.

"Even relief can't wash away guilt, can it?"

Hermione's words broke through Harry's thoughts. He shook his head as she led them back to the couch.

"We shouldn't be feeling like this," she stated simply.

"Well, _you_ shouldn't," he mumbled.

"Nor should you, Harry," said a new voice.

Harry saw Ron sitting awkwardly on his other side.

"Everything started before we were even born," Ron continued. "You wouldn't know, but my parents used to speak about how catastrophic everything was back when we were young. This is so much bigger than us, it's been that way since the beginning."

"I'm sorry," said Harry in a low voice.

"So am I," replied Ron. "But we feeling bad won't change much, will it? It wasn't our fault."

"Quit blaming yourself, it isn't healthy," Hermione insisted.

"Mental stability isn't very high on my list as of now," Harry snapped.

He felt his friend stiffening and bowed his head. The only thing he could do was hurt people.

"I didn't mean it," he muttered after a pause. "I... I just...," he shrugged.

Ron nodded and shrugged his shoulders, too.

"Now, mate," said the redhead with a small grin. "You better get good arguments for the Daily Prophet reporters. If you thought it was bad before..."

Harry groaned as good naturally as he could manage. Ron couldn't even begin to understand how much Harry valued his humour at moments like this.

"At least this time," he smirked. "I'm glad to be sure you two will share the whole nuisance with me!"

One step at a time, Harry thought. Too many thoughts would only upset him and make him hurt others. He needed to take baby steps. Nothing would go back to the way it was, but that didn't mean he couldn't make the best out of the situation. The Wizarding World had begun a new phase, and he was going to try and make it a peaceful one, he owed that much to the fallen heroes.


End file.
